


An Unquenchable Flame

by Evil_Sapphyre



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Self Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Sapphyre/pseuds/Evil_Sapphyre
Summary: Everything was supposed to get better once they closed the Breach with the aid of the mages. Shaedera Lavellan was supposed to get her life back, to no longer be beholden to the Inquisition cause. It seems that fate had other ideas for her.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Bull will be jealous! Come on! _

If Shae closed her eyes, and wished as hard as she could, just maybe she’d find herself back where she made that memory. With laughter at the back of her throat when she nearly dragged Blackwall, Solas and Varric to the nesting point of that dragon in the Hinterlands. She had only wanted to get a better glimpse of it, to see if it was like all the stories and songs she knew, but when she heard that roar… something in her blood almost sang. It had been a grand dance, leaving her breathless and giddy, despite the peril of facing off against such a creature.

That felt like a lifetime ago though, and she doubted even the Iron Bull would be envious of her predicament now. Shae stared at the solid doors of the chantry as the village of Haven burned just outside, the stench of the fires seeping through the narrow cracks. How long had it taken - for all their efforts to be dashed? Seconds? Minutes, at the most? It didn’t matter how long, with a single heartbeat, a single breath, all their fates shifted. A soft sound of disgust escaped her throat as she kept herself from laughing in spite. How was this any different from when the conclave exploded? When she awoke to find the cursed magic bestowed upon her hand, her soul?

Even now, the mark on her hand swirled with its violent viridian energy. It was hypnotic in its own way, and she tried to shift her attention to it in an effort to forget the foul beast, that corrupted dragon. To forget the templars that brought it and the nagging voice in the back of her mind that reminded her that her grandfather had been right. But it didn’t matter how much she tried, or wished. She was stuck here. They all were. She couldn’t even muster the strength to pretend, for anyone’s sake, that their fate wasn’t sealed like those doors.

Still, others around her clung to hope, and it was hard to ignore the whispers around her. More than once, she heard a prayer, someone looking to the Maker for assistance, to guide them, but often, she heard her own name on their lips, that damned title they forced upon her, as if she was going to be their savior. Shae would never begrudge anyone their faith, but the fact that they still looked to her, as this herald for their deity, despite the fact that she still kept to her own gods?

Shaking her head, she clenched her fist, snuffing the green light, as the flicker of rage shot through her. In the face of death, she refused to be stuck with these people, to stay on this ridiculous pedestal that they kept placing her upon. Shae shifted her gaze to the cadre of people gathered around her, the people she fought beside, and the people that adorned her as their  _ Herald _ . The very people of the Inquisition, and yet, they were not praying as so many of the villagers were. It was nothing but solemn faces all around, as if they accepted this end.

Somehow that only infuriated her more. These were to be the righteous, the ones seeking to change everything after the death of their Divine. How could they simply just accept death like this? To just die in this building, huddled like  _ shem _ livestock?

No, Shae refused to let this be the way that things ended for her. Even if the only thing she changed was how her life ended tonight. It was, as Cullen so tactfully put it, their say in how things ended. The Commander of the Inquisition forces might have been content to bury himself beneath the snow, to rob the enemy of a killing blow, but Shae was not about to die like that.

Better to die beneath the stars with the fire around her than in a frozen tomb.

“Tell me where we need to aim the trebuchet.” Her voice cut through the silence, and she ignored the startled looks shot in her direction. Clearly, everyone was on edge, but silence was doing none of them any good. “Your Maker isn’t just going to strike the mountain down from prayers. Someone has to act if you want your burial.”

Cullen sputtered just as Chancellor Roderick gasped and choked in a coughing fit, as that strange boy, Cole, tended to him. “Herald…”

“We don’t exactly have time for this  _ Herald _ business now.” Shae didn’t bother to hide the venom from her words, as the fire in her gut swelled. She never believed she was some herald, and with what looked to be the end, she didn’t want such titles and burdens forced upon her further. “Unless you’ve been magically gifted the knowledge of some way out of this predicament, I’d sooner just go face this Elder One and be done with it.”

A slight flush crept along the commander’s face, his jaw tightening even as he nodded to Shae. “Of course,  _ Herald _ . You’ll want to aim roughly along the middle of the snowy field of the mountaintop. The force from the trebuchet should do the rest.”

“We’ll make certain it strikes true.” Blackwall’s voice cut through the flare of anger that had surged in her when Cullen continued the use of the title Herald.

Even if she never would have asked another to come with her, to risk themselves in such a fashion, she was thankful that the warden volunteered. With all the time she spent traveling with him, his presence had become a comfort, and it would be welcome in these final moments. She placed a hand briefly on his forearm, even as she saw the boy Cole flagging for her attention. “Thank you, Blackwall.”

She managed a brief smile before she turned and headed over to the young man sitting vigil over the Chancellor. Even as she did, she heard the brief note of Cullen’s voice, directed to the other man. “A brief word, Blackwall?”

The full fury of her anger nearly consumed her in that moment, as she exerted every ounce of her control to keep from lashing out at the people around her. The outright, ridiculous nerve of Cullen. He inflicted that awful  _ shem _ title upon her, over and over, disregarding her wishes, and then he couldn’t bother to entrust whatever his wishes were upon her? Instead choosing the other human, the other man, to confide in? Burying the disgust that welled in her throat, and willing her limbs to stop quivering with her anger, she smiled down at Cole, as much as to console herself as him and the Chancellor.

At least this farce would soon be over. 

 

* * *

 

_ Go! _

Pain threaded the last word from her, replaying in his mind. Moments before Blackwall and the others did as asked, that monstrous dragon, that would-be archdemon, appeared in the sky, and uncertainty clouded the lovely golden eyes of the Lady Lavellan. Yet, despite that brief glimpse of doubt, flame erupted from the ground as she rose back to her feet, barring any chance of closing the distance back to her, of trying to protect her.

Of ensuring that he’d falter against his own word. Again.

Maker’s balls, he told Cullen that he’d see to it that Lady Lavellan wasn’t the one left behind. It was a Warden’s duty to ensure the defeat of an archdemon, and the Commander had not flinched at asking Blackwall to stay and die if needs be. Orders were easy to give, and an order like this, well, it had been easy enough to follow - until it wasn’t. Walking through fire, killing himself in what could be the vain hope of sparing her?

What good would that have done?

Especially when she gave him her own orders on the way to the trebuchet. When the opportunity arose, she wanted him, Solas and Varric to retreat back to the chantry, and fall back on the path the rest of the forces were taking, to safety. She wanted them to play rear guard, protect them, in the event that any of the templar forces followed them out the back way.

He tried to persuade her to leave instead, go with the others. After all, she was the one they all looked to. She was the one touched by the very heavens with that mark upon her hand. She shouldn’t be the one to stand atop the mountain alone, waiting for death. Except she wouldn’t hear anything of the sort. A sad smile crossed her face, as she pressed a hand against his cheek.

_ Then perhaps I shall just learn to fly. _

Blackwall stopped in his tracks, as they trudged through the snow, half turning to look back the way they can. The ghostly impression of her touch lingered against his cheek, his eyes searching the snow hazed horizon for the flash of red hair, or the flare of green energy. He shouldn’t have left; he shouldn’t have listened to her. Maybe if he turned back now… maybe he could still do something.

“She knew what she was doing, Hero,” Varric’s voice drove his attention back to the mountain side. The dwarf’s breath frosted before him, a slight shiver to his shoulders. “She’d want us to keep going. To make it back to the others.”

“As it were,  _ we _ barely made it to the safety of the chantry before the mountain came down. There would be nothing to return to.” A note of finality, of sorrow, laced Solas’ voice, as the elf stopped ahead of them. It shared the resignation that Blackwall felt so keenly. “We must continue.”

They were right. Of course, he knew that truth even without them saying it. It didn’t make it easier to turn back, to start walking away again. It didn’t stop him from glancing back over his shoulder either. Just in case.

She deserved better than this. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing had to be said when they arrived at the camp, rejoining the remainder of the Inquisition forces. The disappointment was palpable, especially from Commander Cullen. After all, he implored Blackwall to be the one to stay behind, to be the sacrifice if needs be. He didn’t need to see the look in the other man’s eyes to know he had failed. It still haunted him, even after the long trek through the snow, after that battle. He didn’t want rest, no matter how much he might need it. 

Turning on his heel, he left the camp proper, joining those who volunteered for rear guard duty. The troops were sparse, spread thin enough that the only visible aspect of them was the halo of light from their torches. A part of him knew that this was far from ideal, that if anyone did come after them, it would be hard to assist one another, but he was personally thankful for the separation. 

He didn’t want the company, nor the camaraderie. 

There was enough despair in his own thoughts that he didn’t need to add more. Besides, chances were just as good that the watch would be fruitless. There was no indication that there were any more stragglers of their own people, and there had been no sign of a single member of the rogue templars since they fled from Haven. It was just the cold, empty stretch of night, as far as his eyes could see. 

Perhaps it would have been better if he had not agreed to come along that day in the Hinterlands, when the spirited Lady Lavellan showed up looking for Warden Blackwall. He could have told her no, politely, sent her and the others along their way. It had been hard to refuse her though, when she tilted her head with a soft smile playing about her lips, her golden eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun. 

That… that had been before he had gotten to know her - as much as he would let himself. No matter how much he had tried to keep distance, it seemed that she kept seeking him out, asking him questions. She always seemed to want to make sure he was okay, ever since that day on the Stormcoast. That day haunted him already, with the way her hand had lingered against his arm, how her fingers brushed against his face. Even if he had tried to steel himself against her interest, knowing he wasn’t good enough for her, he never expected her to not be there. To just be gone. 

Andraste’s ass… The sting of the hurt, it threatened to steal the air from his lungs. He knew pain, remorse. Why? Why was this somehow worse? It was more than just the fact that he should have stayed behind. He was prepared to die, preferably alone. How could he have leave her to a fate like that?

To die. Alone.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Blackwall tried to stop the thoughts. No matter how tired he was, how cold he was, he couldn’t somehow numb himself enough. His mind kept wandering, back to Haven, to the way the flames danced between them. Light and shadow mingled on her face, her eyes hard and glinting before he turned to flee. On her word. He clung to that, as if somehow, that might absolve him of his role in her fate. 

Maker, he was a fool. 

His attention shifted to his left, as a wolf howled in the distance. His shoulders tensed at the sound, his hand moving to the pommel of his sword. The silence stretched out, like the blanket of the night’s sky, until another howl followed, further away. Letting his hand fall back to his side, he shook his head, grateful that at the least the wolves gave him a brief respite from the ghosts of his life. 

In the distance, a shadow flickered along the horizon, far outside the scope of the torchlight. He squinted, wondering if it was some trick of his sleep-addled mind, or maybe more of the wolves he was hearing. Now though, it seemed as if there was nothing out there. It was likely nothing. 

But… it could be an enemy scout. 

Sighing, he grabbed the torch from the nearby stand, crunching through the snow as he held the light up high. He probably should call for help, or at least alert the nearest guards, but then again, if it really was nothing? Best to just take care of it himself. 

The halo of light from the torch spread along the ground, illuminating the untouched snow before him. Again, he felt like a fool. He knew how tired he was, how his mind focused on the dead, on his regrets. He simply saw nothing moving in the… 

Blackwall stopped suddenly as the torch hit the ground next to him, sizzling in the wet snow. He was certain he forgot to breathe as he realized that the collapsed body before him, with the red hair pooling about her head, was none other than the Lady Lavellan. Kneeling next to her, he brushed her hair from her face, her eyes closed, and her skin pale save for the color from the tattoo of her people. Dark blotches marred her neck, along with at least one gash, but one thing was certain. 

She was breathing. 

Andraste, how had she… 

That was a question for another time. She had made it this far on her own. Cradling her in his arms, he lifted her with ease. He’d take her the rest of the way.

 

* * *

 

It took every last ounce of willpower for Shae to keep her smile from faltering as the people about her continued to clamor their survival, and her own, as an act of their Maker. No matter how much she knew it not to be true, they kept telling her that these people needed to believe, to have faith, that it was something more. Because apparently being capable of surviving without some sort of divine intervention, well, that was too much for them. 

Of course, there was that whole possible truth about Tevinter magisters walking in the Fade and corrupting themselves in the so-called Golden City. It wasn’t like Shae was ignorant of the story of their religion - her own elven heritage aside. Perhaps in light of that, these people needed to cling more tightly to their faith, to believe that the Maker had some sort of will and plan, and that he simply didn’t exist as this Elder One said. 

She sighed as she stood on the outskirts of the camp, holding a blanket tight around her body. There was no way she could blame them for not wanting to know such things, if in fact true. It would be hard to accept for anyone. She just wished that they’d leave her out of their interpretations. For now, she was thankful that she was finally away from them, to be able to breathe a bit more in peace and sort through her own thoughts. 

Or rather avoid her thoughts. 

Frankly, she had no desire to relive any of those moments on that mountain top. Despite her offer to sacrifice herself, to spare the town by granting them a slow death, Shae much prefered living to the alternative. There was much that she wanted to do still with her life, and she had every intention of getting through whatever mess this Inquisition held for her so she could get back to that. Not that she had any definitive plans, but that didn’t mean she wanted less from life. Not everything had to be planned meticulously. 

Still, she knew it wasn’t just her own hand that played a role in the fact that she was here. Her own actions saved her from her fate back at Haven, but she owed thanks to another for the fact that she didn’t freeze to death afterwards. And it seemed that he was as eager to avoid everyone as she was, which at least made it easy to track him down. No matter where they were, he always seemed to be on the periphery of the encampment. Was it just the fact that he was a Grey Warden that made him keep himself apart from everyone? Even now, alone was how she found him, leaning against a tree, staring out into the darkness. 

“Blackwall?” She stopped a few feet away from him, hesitating as she spoke his name, a sudden flutter of nerves grasping her stomach. 

His shoulders tightened, his posture growing rigid, which only amplified the uneasiness that suddenly struck her, as he stood up straight. Turning toward her, his face seemed haunted, by more than just exhaustion, his gray eyes full of sorrow. He half-stepped in her direction, his voice more surprised than sad. “Lady Lavellan, I…” 

“Shae,” she smiled at him, smothering the chuckle in her throat. She’d much rather correct this formality again than that _Herald_ nonsense. 

It was his turn to hesitate, regarding her in silence for a moment. He was a hard man to read, and she wondered what was going through his mind. Had she intruded on something else entirely? Perhaps she should beg her apologies, thank him and go… 

Before she could though, he lifted a hand, and for a moment, she almost thought he meant to touch her face, stroke her hair. She felt nearly paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze, and she realized how much she wanted that simple contact. How many times had she placed a gentle hand upon him, letting herself linger perhaps too long, yet he never had done the same. And now? Now his hand fell back to his side just as suddenly, his voice gruff. “You should probably still be resting.” 

“Right, _resting._ ” Disappointment surged through her, far more than she expected, and her words carried the bite of that sting. Heat touched her cheeks, her smile falling away. “Do you think me some fragile creature?” 

“Fragile?” His brow furrowed at her words, confusion clouding the sorrow that had been in his eyes. A sigh passed his lips. “Of course not. Maker’s balls, I simply meant that you…” 

“I _what_?” She couldn’t stop the flare of anger from igniting in her. Even as she cut him off, she tightened her grip on the blanket around her shoulders, daring him with her eyes. “Oh no, do tell me what you think I should be doing? Everyone else is quick to tell me, why should you be any different?” 

“Andraste, _I’m_ too tired for this.” She barely managed to catch the words before he scrubbed his face with his hand. The confusion was gone from his eyes, and somehow, he seemed even sadder now. “I simply thought you’d want to take the chance to rest after…Well, _everything_. I wasn’t trying to imply…” 

“What I want?” A bitter laugh passed her lips, the sting of all the assumptions, the assertions upon her, dwelling with the anger. Her frustration spilled over without any chance of her stopping it - not that she would now. “Since when do anyone of you care what _I_ want? It’s always about what you want from me, what they say _your_ Maker wants from _me_.” 

It was unfair of her, and she knew that. Of all the people she met, Blackwall had been the least judgemental of her, of her beliefs. He hadn’t pressed his views on her, even if he shared the Andrastian views of the others, and now he just stared at her with those sad gray eyes. She regretted lashing out at him, as it hadn’t helped. She had only wished to thank him, as she was genuinely grateful for the fact that he saved her from the perils of the snow. Instead, it sounded like she simply wished to rail against him, and what she perceived him to represent - even if it wasn’t true. 

And that bothered her. Damn it. 

“Apologies, my lady,” the words were as stiff as his posture, the rigid formality of the words not lost on her. Here, she had been insisting that he relax, and well, she probably just ruined any chances of that. What in the name of the Creators was wrong with her tonight? “Unless there’s something you need from me, I’ll take my leave.” 

Her stomach dropped, twisting itself in knots. This was not how she intended on the conversation going. He didn’t seem intent on waiting for her word to leave, already turning to leave. If she didn’t act fast, she’d lose any opportunity to thank him tonight, and probably destroy his opinion of her. 

“Blackwall…” Letting the blanket fall to the ground, she stepped forward, placing one hand on his arm. He stopped in his tracks, her hand moving from his arm to his cheek, the warmth of his skin hidden by the soft bristles of his beard. Her words, the apology and her thanks, stuck in her throat, as his eyes met hers again. It wasn’t anger that she saw, as she expected, but instead that ever-present sorrow. “Don’t.. Don’t go.” 

Without thinking, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him. His body remained rigid as she did so, but she ignored that as she rested her head against his chest. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before he finally relented to her embrace, his arms encircling her and holding her tight against him. His warmth, his smell, enveloped her, shielding her as the rest of the world seemingly melted away. 

Tears stung at her own eyes as she finally felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then the Maker said:  
> To you, My second-born, I grant this gift:  
> In your heart shall burn  
> An unquenchable flame  
> All-consuming, and never satisfied.  
> From the Fade I crafted you,  
> And to the Fade you shall return  
> Each night in dreams  
> That you may always remember Me.
> 
> —Canticle of Threnodies 5:7

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Faejilly and faerieninja for all their help. <3


End file.
